


Fall into bed with me

by sburbanite



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Love Confessions, M/M, Missing Scene, Not too angsty but some crying, Tears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-19 01:12:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19346524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sburbanite/pseuds/sburbanite
Summary: Crowley is so unbelievably, utterly tired, and yet he still has to find a way to save himself and his angel from the forces of Heaven and Hell.(An incredibly sappy take on that night Aziraphale stayed at his place, feat. A Snake With Low Self Esteem)





	Fall into bed with me

It was raining by the time the bus pulled in to Mayfair; big, fat drops that splattered against the windows. Crowley had been staring straight ahead for the last forty miles, gaze fixed on the back of the seat in front as he fought to stay awake. He was utterly, bone-deep tired. Through his sunglasses the world seemed darker than it truly was, which made matters worse. Crowley thought he should be used to the shadow over his vision by now. Somehow, he wasn't. The one bright spot was Aziraphale's hand, which had been clasped in his since they got on at Tadfield. Neither of them had said anything about it.

"We're here, I think," Aziraphale said, his voice uncertain, "wherever here is."

Crowley didn't react. His mind was somewhere else entirely, somewhere hot and flaming and desperate. Aziraphale shook his arm gently, and Crowley nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Crowley?" He said, and for a second Crowley wasn't sure. 

"Ngh." 

It wasn't much of a reply, but the angel seemed to understand. He let Aziraphale lead him off the bus, resisting the urge to rub his eyes. It had been a bloody long day. By turns, it had been the very worst and the very best of his life. Now the past 24 hours were starting to congeal in the soft parts of his brain, a lump of memory too big and painful to prod at.  

They stood in the rain together, hands by their sides now, and Crowley was hit by a wave of deja-vu that rose like nausea in his gut. The angel snapped his fingers and produced a white umbrella, holding it over both of them but mostly sheltering Crowley. It was too much, just like it was back then, and Crowley wanted to sob the emotion out until he felt clean and empty again. He didn't, obviously. Tired or not, he'd had six thousand years to re-enforce those particular floodgates.

Aziraphale was standing underneath a street light, watching the bus leave with an anxious look on his face. The light filtering through the umbrella made him seem to glow from within.

"I do hope they get home alright. The poor driver must live in Oxford, after all."

"S'fine," Crowley said, gesturing vaguely, "they'll get paid overtime, won't even remember why they took a detour. Won't get in trouble."

Aziraphale smiled softly. For a second, he looked as if he was about to say something stupid about Crowley being  _ nice _ or  _ good _ , but wisely decided against it. 

"Thank you, dear boy," he said, instead, and then stood there, fidgeting. 

Crowley remembered they were supposed to be going to his flat, and that although they'd known each other as long as the world has existed, Aziraphale didn't know where it was. Worse still, they would have to pass the Bentley's empty parking space to get there. 

"This way, then." He muttered, stumbling toward an alleyway that would let them bypass the main road and it's conspicuous lack of Bentley. Aziraphale hurried after, struggling to keep the umbrella over him as he swayed haltingly towards his flat. In truth, Crowley didn't care whether he got wet. He already felt cold all the way down to his core.

They'd saved the world, sure, or at least done  _ something _ that had helped. It was starting to blur in his mind as the world reset itself, but he was sure they had definitely contributed. Enough, at least to earn them the blame for it all. The world was safe, but he and Aziraphale were definitely not.

Hell and Heaven would both be coming for them. He was going to lose the angel all over again.

"I say, this neighborhood is rather nice," Aziraphale was talking as they walked, trying to fill the heavy silence with something lighter, "Not this particular alleyway full of bins, of course, but the rest of it really is rather ritzy!" 

_ Perhaps one day we could, I don't know. Go for a picnic. Dine at the Ritz. _

Aziraphale had said that once, softly and wistfully, and planted a little seed of hope in Crowley's chest that never quite died. Now, when it seemed that he might finally be able to let that seed take root, they were out of time. It was painfully unfair.

Crowley grunted noncommittally and gestured to the doorman as they made their way into his building. The man wouldn't remember seeing them. Nobody in the building would. It wouldn't stop any ethereal or occult forces if they decided to actually use their brains, but it would help if they were just watching the building. The front door was still hanging open from when Hastur and Ligur had broken in. Crowley pushed past it into his flat. No burglar would have ever noticed Crowley's flat even if he left the front door open all day, every day. It didn't even technically exist inside the building, and took up significantly more space than the floorplan could possibly allow. He heard Aziraphale repair the lock as he followed, before closing the door quietly behind him.

Crowley shuffled to the living room and collapsed on the sofa. It was fashionable and uncomfortable, but he didn't care. Aziraphale sat gingerly on the end of it, closer than he usually would be but still too far away. Crowley wondered what would happen if he reached out and hugged the angel. Probably nothing good. He always went too fast. 

Instead of reaching out to one another, they sat, saying nothing. 

"M'gonna go to bed," Crowley said, eventually. It was all he could think of to do. Aziraphale nodded, not looking at him. Crowley was about to stand up when he noticed there were tears rolling silently down the angel's cheeks. He was breathing raggedly, trying to cry as discreetly as possible.

"Hey, hey, what's wrong?" He said, stupidly. He knew what was wrong.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Aziraphale began rummaging in his coat pocket for a handkerchief, "I just can't seem to stop. Human bodies, eh? One small apocalypse and they start leaking all over the place."

"Aziraphale."

The angel looked at him, big blue eyes full of tears.

"I'm  _ afraid _ , Crowley." Aziraphale said, quietly, "I'm afraid of what Hell will do to you, and of what Heaven will do to me. Most of all I'm afraid of never...of never seeing you again."

Aziraphale sniffed and wiped his eyes. He looked broken in a way that Crowley had never seen before. 

Crowley was also afraid, more so than he'd been in the last six thousand years. His heart clenched in his chest at the memory of the burning bookshop, the heat and the flames and the feeling of the only light in his life being snuffed out forever. He blinked away his own tears, glad that his sunglasses hid them.

"I thought you were dead, y'know," he said, his voice cracking on the word "dead", "Not like, "inconveniently discorporated". Actually gone forever."

"Oh, my dear." Aziraphale surprised Crowley by sliding across the foot of space between them and wrapping warm arms around him. "I'm so sorry."

Crowley sat stiffly. He didn't know whether hugging back would scare Aziraphale off. 

"S' OK. M'alright now."

"You lying serpent."

Crowley laughed. He  _ was _ a liar.

"It's what I do, I'm a demon, remember?"

Cautiously, Crowley put his hand on Aziraphale's back, rubbing slow circles as the angel sniffled into his shoulder. Aziraphale shuddered, leaning into him and tightening his grip on Crowley's back.

"Crowley, I...I'm so sorry for pushing you away, before. I'll never do it again. I can't. I won't. Even if they try to make me, I'd rather die."

"You can't die, angel," Crowley mumbled into his coat, "please don't."

Aziraphale pulled away then, and Crowley could no longer wipe away the tears on his cheeks. He held Crowley's hand tightly, and raised the other to the demon's face.

"May I?" Crowley wasn't sure what he was asking for, but it didn't matter. He nodded. Aziraphale could have whatever he wanted.

The angel gently lifted the glasses from his face, turning his world suddenly brighter.

"Crowley, listen to me. We are not going to lose each other after all of this, we are  _ not _ ." Aziraphale rubbed his thumb lightly across Crowley's knuckles. Crowley nodded again, too afraid of what he would say if he tried to speak.

"Listen, my dear. After this, we can do anything you'd like. Go _anywhere you want to go_. At _any_ _speed_." Aziraphale's eyes were shining, his words thick with emotion. "We can spend the rest of our lives figuring it out, together. We just have to get through the next bit...somehow."

Aziraphale sniffed. He was trying to be strong, Crowley could tell, trying to be calm and collected when inside he was losing his mind with terror. All because Crowley was weak and tired and out of ideas. Aziraphale had always been beautiful to Crowley but right now, with a runny nose and puffy eyes from crying, he was divine, lovely, absolutely perfect. Crowley wanted desperately to kiss him, to wrap him in his wings and keep him safe. It was a shame that wouldn't do anything at all if Heaven and Hell came for them.

He blinked slowly, trying to think of something. It was like trying to wade through molasses.

"I'm sorry, 'Ziraphale," Crowley said, wretchedly, "I can't  _ think _ of anything, I used too much energy, gettin' to Tadfield through the fire, stoppin' time and all that."

"Oh!" Aziraphale said, leaning forward and wiping moisture from Crowley's face he hadn't realized was there. "Of course, I'm so stupid! You've been going non-stop and here I am asking you to save me yet again!" 

"Don't beat yourself up, angel. I'll be alright, jus' need to sleep,"  _ and never let you out of my sight again _ , Crowley added, mentally. There was no way he could ask Aziraphale to stay with him, though. No matter what the angel had said about speed, jumping straight to "come to bed with me" would probably make Aziraphale uncomfortable.

He tried to get up off the sofa and walk to his room, he really did. It was just that his legs didn't seem to be working. Instead, he almost toppled over onto the coffee table before Aziraphale caught his arm. 

"Whoops, there we go," the angel said, righting him but not letting go of him. He patted Crowley's arm comfortingly. "I think I'd best escort you to your bedroom, don't you? We can't have you cracking your head open on the statuary. And such  _ interesting _ statues they are, too."

Crowley was disappointed that he wasn't awake enough to really appreciate Aziraphale's expression when he spotted the statue of Evil Triumphing Over Good. That one was from the period where art could be really pornographic as long as it was supposed to be holy. He let the angel guide him, stumbling, to the room at the back of the flat that had his huge bed in it. 

"There we are, you lie down now. I'll, um. I'll just think of something while you're asleep. To get us off the hook, as it were."

Crowley sighed, relaxing into the soft embrace of the mattress. He was only barely conscious, already beginning to drift. 

"You, um. Still have your clothes on, dear boy, shoes and jacket and the like. Will that be comfortable to sleep in?"

"Don't care," Crowley grumbled. 

"Are you sure? I mean, you are the expert I suppose."

Crowley groaned. His shoes were starting to feel too tight, not to mention his trousers. He waved a hand and sent it all away to its various drawers and hangers, leaving him in just his boxers. 

"Oh my! A little warning would be nice, Crowley."

Aziraphale was still here. He'd forgotten that Aziraphale was still here. He swiftly shimmied under the covers before burying his face in the pillow.

"Sorry." The word was muffled by the pillow, but Crowley was pretty sure Aziraphale could still hear it. Dimly, he heard Aziraphale padding over to the side of the bed. Soft fingertips stroked the hair on the back of his head, and he heard the angel sigh.

"Don't be, darling. Get some rest. I won't go anywhere, I promise."

The hand stroking his head moved lower, now, tracing his neck to the place where his wings were tucked away on another plane of existence. It felt heavenly, a caring touch that Crowley hadn't felt since before his fall. He rolled over so that he could look at Aziraphale. The angel was smiling at him sadly, as if Crowley was a lost, broken thing he wanted to repair. Right now, Crowley supposed he was.

He reached out and caught Aziraphale's hand before he could pull it away. He held it against his chest, right over where his heart was.

"Would you stay with me?" He asked, quietly, "Just let me hold you while I sleep? Please? I just want to know you're still here."

It was by far the dangerous, most intimate thing Crowley had ever asked of him, and Crowley half expected Aziraphale to take off, blustering his way out of the flat entirely. On some level, though, he knew that the angel would stay. They were each other's home now, and neither of them had anywhere else to go. 

"Yes, love. Of course I will."

Crowley shivered as Aziraphale smiled at him, and tried not to let the word the angel had just used get his hopes up. It was just post-not-apocalypse relief that made Aziraphale's eyes dance and sparkle like that. The angel shrugged off his coat and laid it over the back of the chair in the corner of the room, and knelt to take his shoes off. As he did so, he noticed something yellow-white lying on Crowley's smooth grey floor. It was the last, singed fragment of Agnes Nutter's book. He turned it over in his hand.

" _ When all is faced and all is done, ye must choose your faces wisely, for soon enouff you will be playing with fyre.” _

Aziraphale felt the solution to their problems crystallize in his mind, and beamed. It was clever, it was prophesied, and it would  _ work _ .

He clambered into Crowley's enormous bed and shuffled over to where the demon was curled into a ball. Aziraphale shook him gently.

"Wake up, Crowley!"

"Wuzzat? I wasn't asleep yet, you idiot. What d'you want?"

Aziraphale told him. Crowley looked up at him as if the angel had just handed him the world, wide eyed and beautiful and hopeful. 

"Angel, that's brilliant. I always knew you were smart."

"Yes, I rather think it is." There were tears in Aziraphale's eyes again, but for an entirely different reason. Crowley couldn't have been more surprised when the angel leaned in toward him slowly and asked, "Crowley, can I kiss you?"

His heart stopped, or it felt like it did. Down in his chest, the seed of hope burst into riotous bloom. 

"Yes. Yes, please, angel. God, yes." 

Aziraphale pressed his lips softly to Crowley's. It didn't seem like he had too much of an idea of what to do after that, so Crowley kissed him back enthusiastically. Aziraphale ran his hand through Crowley's hair, stroking soft enough to make him remember clouds and white feathers and everlasting love. It was better than that, though, this new-old thing between them. As Aziraphale kissed him and pressed him close, Crowley knew this wasn't something that could be ripped away for asking a few questions. Aziraphale was real and solid and smelled a little bit like old books and dust. He was all that Crowley had ever wanted, and he wanted Crowley in return. 

Tomorrow, if Hell and Heaven wanted to make them fall from grace, they would catch each other.

Crowley held on tight as Aziraphale whispered an endless tide of sobs and _ I love you _ s in his ear, and let his own love unfold in his chest, tearing down the barriers he'd made to hide it. Demons struggled to articulate their feelings, but that didn't mean they didn't have them. And Crowley knew that Aziraphale could sense it through his skin; the hot, burning sensation of love so strong it could save an entire planet. The angel's breath caught in his throat and he squeezed even tighter.

They would be OK, he realized, once they had both calmed and settled into the bliss of relief. They really would be. They had the rest of their lives together, and what could be more perfect than that? 

Crowley finally closed his eyes to the sensation of Aziraphale snoring against his chest. It had been a long first day of the rest of their lives. His sleep that night was deep and dreamless, and he woke with his angel in his arms.

**Author's Note:**

> Listen, I happy cried all the way through my own wedding, OK? Everyone laughed at me :D


End file.
